


A Perfect Potion

by ardentmuse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Affection, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, Heavy Petting, Kissing, Love, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Potions, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, ardentmuse almost 2k celebration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-12-01 21:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20897783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentmuse/pseuds/ardentmuse
Summary: tumblr request: 37 with George Weasley? And congrats love! You’re a phenomenal writer!George works on a new product and needs a taste-tester. Who better than the person he's dating!





	A Perfect Potion

“Babe, taste this,” called a voice from the back rooms of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

Most people couldn’t tell the twins apart with their identical hairstyles, similar dress, and duplicated mannerisms. But the one thing that had always made it clear to you who was who had been their voices. Fred had a jovial modulation, like he was ringleader to the world’s greatest circus and you were just hoping to be gifted a ticket. George, on the other hand, while still pleasant and chipper and just a tiny bit conspiratorial, had a slight throatiness, almost a rasp, the kind the reverberated in your chest when he held you close and spoke directly into your ear. It was the kind of huskiness – especially in these early sleepy hours – that sent shivers along your body.

The fact that this voice called you “babe” only added to the confirmation. 

You set Fred’s coffee down upon the counter and carried yours and George’s beverages with you into the cramped workspace George often hunkered down in before the store opened for customers.

When you entered, the room was surprisingly organized, only a few vials of ingredients, only some of which you recognized, set upon the counter beside the cauldron George was leaning over. The smell that permeated the room was intoxicating, like citrus and honey.

“Now what am I tasting?”

George turned around to offer you his brightest smile. He was surprisingly chipper these past few mornings; so different from the cuddle monster he could be sometimes when the morning light threatened your time together. Whatever he was working on, it was something for which he was taking great pride.

“I hope the most delicious thing your mouth has ever known,” George grinned, raising his wooden spoon to you.

Your eyes took in the vials beside him. One contained what looked like spider’s legs and the other something that looked like living slime, moving and molding to its container as it glowed a brilliant blue. You felt your stomach turn at the sight, but then you registered that smell again – that glorious, delectable smell – and you decided to ignore your vision. George loved you. He wasn’t about to poison you; at least not on purpose.

You took the steps towards your partner, the man you couldn’t help but love even when he was doing his best mad scientist routine. His smile only grew as you stood chest to chest with him. You handed him his tea as you took the spoon from his grasp, running your fingers up the length of his rose-colored sleeve before plucking the object gently from his fingers.

You took in the liquid, a swirling mass of silver hue, and something in you yearned to taste it. Before you knew it, you had the spoon against your lips and the liquid tossed back down your throat.

The trail of it warmed your throat even though the liquid was cool. Your forehead knitted in confusion and your mouth fell open.

“That bad?” George asked, his fingers fidgeting with his cuffs.

You blinked back to your senses to address him, “I’d say it’s like 50 million simultaneous orgasms, but better.” You lifted the spoon and reached around George to dip it again in the cauldron. The tingle in your throat at the scrumptious potion was just dissipating and you needed to sense it again, to taste the fruity, sweet, sharp spark the liquid gave you.

Before you could reach the pot, George’s fingers wrapped around your wrist.

“Okay, okay, I think that’s enough now.” He pulled the spoon from your hands and set it back on the counter before holding your shoulders to look you in the eyes.

You pouted at him.

“What? I don’t want any more competition in the pleasing you department.”

You laughed heartily as his hands stroked you through your coat. The fall had truly hit now and the chill in the morning air made your daily beverage runs all that better for waking you up. George’s hands ran down your chest to find the buttons amongst the wool. He flicked only one before speaking again, his eyes growing lidded as he leaned into you.

“Perhaps I might dissuade of the lies that pretty little mouth of yours feels like telling, hmm?” He flicked another button and let his fingertips brush against your stomach underneath. “A man could get a little jealous if you keep talking about the products like that.”

Your breathing had grown short as his attentions and at the thrill of George showing you just the kind of pleasure he could give you that no potion could. But at the word, product, your eyes shot open and you took a step away.

“What’s about to happen to me, George? Am I going to grow a second head or start breathing fire?” Your fingers ran against your own lips as you clung tightly to your stomach. You never once thought about the consequences of tasting a Weasley concoction as it was usually followed immediately with an antidote once the desired effects were seen. But George didn’t seem eager to offer you any alternative. He only prowled forward, like an big cat stalking a drinking gazelle.

“What’s about to happen to you is your boyfriend is about to ravish you on top of this counter before we have to open shop.”

His hands found your waist again and pulled you flush to him. The hard expanse of his broad chest was a pleasant retreat for your frightened form.

“No weird effects?” you asked again.

“None,” he promised with a kiss to your nose, “Just a base I was working on, a treat for our anniversary that I thought I might apply to some love potions. Though if it tastes the way you say, then—“ George cut himself off for a moment as the red grew strong in his cheeks, hiding the beautiful freckles that decorated his face. He coughed a little before adding, “I mean, I know it tastes the way you said. I modeled the taste after you.”

You raised your eyebrow to ask the question but George simply wouldn’t let you.

“No more talking, love. We have,” he looked up at the grandfather clock that stood in the corner, “seven minutes.” He lifted you up with ease unto the counter top, pushing away any remnants of ingredients that he may have been using.

One vial rolled towards you and hit your hip. You picked it up as George began trailing gentle kisses down your neck.

You read the label, “I taste like gurdyroot to you?”

George hummed against your neck, “Had to improvise.”

As he licked the skin of your collar bone, you felt a new kind of burn in your throat. Maybe you had been rash with your words, for nothing felt better than the man before you. Not even magic could compare to him.

George moved to kiss your lips, you suddenly felt how short seven minutes truly were.

And it was only made worse when he whispered against your lips.

“Mmm, cloves.”


End file.
